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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28517769">To Make A House A Home</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairdeath/pseuds/dirtynutmeg'>dirtynutmeg (fairdeath)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Put a Bun in the Oven [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, In Love, M/M, Pregnancy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 20:01:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,206</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28517769</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairdeath/pseuds/dirtynutmeg</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Corpse doesn’t understand the high-strung needs he’s being controlled by, doesn’t know how to communicate them, doesn’t know how to satiate them. And it’s driving Sykkuno mad. </p><p>Sykkuno wants to hold Corpse close, to hold and to be held, to shut him up with kisses and give him something to do to keep him quiet. But he also wants to lock him out of the house until their baby is here to get a reprieve from constantly being put on a pedestal and worshipped. He's pregnant, not a frail princess.</p><p>It reaches a peak when Corpse tries to make their bed.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Corpse Husband/Sykkuno (Video Blogging RPF)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Put a Bun in the Oven [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2088999</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>478</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>To Make A House A Home</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I didn't do this for me. I did this for <i>us</i>. :)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Sykkuno knows Corpse doesn’t understand the feelings he’s going through. Going from barely recognising the fact he is an alpha, to finding an omega to claim as his, to </span>
  <em>
    <span>claiming</span>
  </em>
  <span> that omega, to watching his omega grow fat and heavy with the weight of their child all while not knowing why his body is reacting as it does must be frighteningly overwhelming. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>That doesn’t change the fact that his constant unyielding loving, doting, protecting of Sykkuno isn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>infuriating</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Sykkuno still preens at the attention, loves the feeling of Corpse massaging oil into the swell of his stomach, of his fingers pressing against his skin, of the love in every gaze, but he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>pregnant</span>
  </em>
  <span>, not bedridden. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Corpse makes </span>
  <em>
    <span>himself</span>
  </em>
  <span> the homemaker, taking away Sykkuno’s hardwired role from him without permission. He cooks for the two of them, always too much food, always trying to make Sykkuno eat just a little too much. He sweeps the floors far more often than is necessary, and Sykkuno just knows his body gives him hell for it, knows his left arm is more often numb than not. Corpse doesn’t allow Sykkuno to shower alone unless Sykkuno gives him another task. He wants to wash Sykkuno’s skin, to caress his thighs and upper arms that have grown soft with the food he’s being fed, to cleanse his skin of all scent and replace it immediately with </span>
  <em>
    <span>claimed omega</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It takes away all the base instincts Sykkuno needs to feel </span>
  <em>
    <span>ready</span>
  </em>
  <span> for parenthood, and he’s sure that Corpse doesn’t feel any more ready for all the doting he does. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sykkuno is just </span>
  <em>
    <span>tired</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He's carrying so much extra weight, both baby and fat. He can't sleep comfortably - not since the third trimester started. He's too hot and too cold all at once constantly, his core a furnace and fingers like ice. He can’t sit in the same spot for much longer than an hour, so he can’t stream for long, and he can’t get up and walk around midstream, lest he risks his audience knowing he’s pregnant - there are some things he wants to keep to himself. Corpse dotes on him but doesn't allow him a second to breathe. When he streams, Corpse doesn’t anymore, constantly refilling his tea and water and bringing him snacks and sitting on the floor by his side to massage his feet and calves. He wants to hold Corpse close, to hold and to be held, to shut him up with kisses and give him something to do to keep him quiet. But he also wants to lock him out of the house until their baby is here to get a reprieve from constantly being put on a pedestal and worshipped. He's pregnant, not a frail princess.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Corpse is just overwhelmed by </span>
  <em>
    <span>love, my love, omega, pregnant omega, </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>my</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span> pregnant omega</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Dropping out of school so young meant he went through maturing alone, both primary and secondary sexes, so he doesn’t understand the high-strung needs he’s being controlled by, doesn’t know how to communicate them, doesn’t know how to satiate them. And it’s driving Sykkuno mad. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sykkuno manages to sneak into the bathroom when Corpse is sweeping the house for the second time in as many days, takes the two seconds he isn’t focused on </span>
  <em>
    <span>omega, my omega</span>
  </em>
  <span> to take fresh underwear and lock himself away in the bathroom. He runs the bath, filling it with fragrant salts and soap, letting himself soak in the hot water, let it relax the aches in his muscles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Corpse wanders, unsure of what to do with himself while Sykkuno bathes. Should he cook something? No, the freezer is already full of meals and there’s something in the slow cooker. Should he mop the floor? No, no, he did that yesterday. Should he water the plants? No, Sykkuno told him he can only do it once every other day or they’ll drown. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He ends up aimlessly circling until he finds himself drawn to their bedroom. The heavy curtains are pulled, the room dark. There’s a pile of blankets and clothes on the bed, seemingly listlessly thrown and yet there’s something particular about it. Sykkuno was trying to make the bed before he went to the bathroom? The least he can do is finish making it, to let him come from a relaxing bath to a fresh-made bed. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He pulls the corners of a duvet from the pile, balling it up in his arms, covered in the weight of it. Several pairs of black boxer-briefs fall from it as he collects it. He throws the duvet to the side, removing the blankets one by one from the bed. In the fluffy grey blanket he pulls, the weight heavy with its density, he discovers one of his shirts. Huh, that’s weird. It’s the shirt Corpse wore yesterday. It’s surely incredibly dirty - it smells like the fresh-cut grass from having mowed the lawn, gasoline from the mower, and overwhelmingly like sweat and musk - </span>
  <em>
    <span>Corpse’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>sweat and musk. Corpse’s brow furrows. That’s odd - why did Sykkuno put his dirty shirt in the pile of blankets? He discards it a pile by the door, collecting the underwear from the blankets as well. They’re also definitely not clean. Did Sykkuno get the laundry baskets confused this morning? He continues dismantling the blankets until the bed is clear, only the sheets remaining. Corpse fluffs the pillows, lying them flat at the bed head. He pulls the top sheet taut, then shakes out the blankets one by one, starting from the lightest and working up to the heaviest. Grey cotton, baby blue polyester, the heavy feather duvet, topped with the green floral throw blanket at the foot of the bed. Corpse looks at his work, proud of the crisp bedding. After admiring his work for a moment, hands on hips and a deep sigh of contentment, he collects the dirty clothes from the pile he’d made by the door. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He takes them to the laundry, the pile balled up in his arms. As he goes to deposit it in the hamper, he realises that they’re all </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span> clothes, and all reeking of him. The shirt he wore when doing yard work, sweating under the heat of the sun. The underwear he’d worn over the last three days. The sweatpants he’d worn around the house last week for far longer than he should have. Why did Sykkuno put them all in the clean bedding? </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>When he returns to the bedroom, Sykkuno is standing stock-still in the doorway from the bathroom, wearing nothing but boxers and his fuzzy forest green dressing gown, unable to close properly over the swell of his late-stage pregnancy. His hair is damp still, pushed away from his forehead like he’s run his fingers through it and gripped it in panic. Corpse stops in his tracks. Sykkuno is holding himself tense and high-strung, like an elastic band ready to snap. Corpse slowly approaches, quiet and movements obvious like he’s approaching injured wildlife. When he gets closer, Corpse sees the tears that are streaking his cheeks, dripping from the point of his chin: silent, uninvited, overwhelming tears. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sykkuno’s nest is gone. His arduous work has been washed away, no trace in sight. The room doesn’t smell like </span>
  <em>
    <span>home</span>
  </em>
  <span> anymore, just like their bedroom. It doesn’t smell like his alpha - doesn’t smell like safety and belonging and love. The things he collected, the cream of the crop of Corpse’s alpha pheromone scented clothes, are gone. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Corpse knows he’s inexperienced. He knows he isn’t educated on what being an omega is like, doesn’t know what it’s like to feel the drive to carry a child, to need to be marked and claimed, but to care for an alpha he takes you as theirs. He doesn’t know what it’s like to be a </span>
  <em>
    <span>pregnant</span>
  </em>
  <span> omega, to feel your womb grow heavy and full, to feel the ache of your chest grow plump with milk, to be willing to contort your organs and rearrange your life to fit a child inside your body and your heart. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>But he knows that his mate crying isn’t right. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Corpse rubs his palm back and forth across Sykkuno’s shoulder blades standing by his side. After he feels Sykkuno begin to exhale, ragged and becoming a sob, he draws his omega into his arms, careful of the bump between them. Corpse cradles him in his arms, pressing Sykkuno's face to his neck, stroking his hair, cooing softly, swaying side to side lightly. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Why did you clean it?” Sykkuno cries, weak and scared. His tears are wet against Corpse’s neck and hem of his shirt. “What happened to my nest?” he asks, and ice picks pierce Corpse’s heart, knocking the wind from him. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Why did I- oh my god, Sykkuno,</span>
  <em>
    <span> that's</span>
  </em>
  <span> what you were doing?” He asks, immediately furious at himself for not recognising, and then overwhelmingly sorry for fucking everything up like he has managed to with everything else during Sykkuno’s pregnancy. “Fuck. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>, baby, I’m sorry,” he rambles, apology spewing from his lips, “I didn’t realise, I thought you were making the bed.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sykkuno stops mid-whining sob at that. He lifts his head from the crook of Corpse’s neck and looks at him, incredulous, his dark eyes narrowed in confusion. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Corpse, I’m a </span>
  <em>
    <span>heavily pregnant omega</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and you didn’t realise I had made us a nest?” Sykkuno asks, cheeks red from the heat of his bath and tears and anger that threatens to boil over. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Corpse feels small and helpless under the angered gaze of his omega. He’s done wrong. He’s messed up. He ruined the nest his mate had made for them, the nest he had worked hard on to make smell like his alpha, like home and safety and love.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I-I didn’t know,” he stutters, embarrassed and ashamed of himself. “I’m sorry baby, I’m sorry,” he continues sputtering apologies, “I’ll help you remake it-” </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“No, you won’t” Sykkuno’s harsh response cuts the still of the air like a hot knife. His hands are balled into fists at his side, knuckles white. “You don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>get </span>
  </em>
  <span>it, Corpse. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> made that nest. I made that for </span>
  <em>
    <span>us</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he stomps his foot, like a child in a tantrum, the strength of his emotions always at 100 per cent and then some with the pregnancy hormones running through his nerves. Corpse lets his arms drop from the hold on Sykkuno, self-preservation kicking in. Sykkuno needs space to throw his arms around and express his emotions, and Corpse lets him, not planning to let himself be caught in the crossfire of it on accident. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> need to remake that nest, or it won’t be done right,” Sykkuno informs him, pointing to himself with an index finger, his voice firm and unwavering. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m</span>
  </em>
  <span> the omega. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m </span>
  </em>
  <span>the homemaker.  I’ll do it myself,” he decides, determined, tired of being treated like a thin pane of glass in his own home. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He nods to himself, a sharp thing of confident decision making, and turns on his heel, heading directly to the laundry. Corpse watches him, bewildered and oh so in love with his beautiful and determined omega. He doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>need</span>
  </em>
  <span> an alpha to take care of him, doesn’t need an alpha at all if he didn’t want, but he chooses Corpse, even in his ignorance of his role as Sykkuno’s alpha.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He returns but a breath later, entire laundry hamper in tow, tucked against the curve of his hip. The swell of his stomach is beginning to drop, his navel distended from his torso, the stripes of stretch marks they couldn’t stop shining silver in the low light. His mouth is set in a firm line, cheeks chubby with his extra weight and the pull of his lips. His hair, wet, falls in his face as he looks down at himself. He turns to the side to enter the room with the hamper and grunts as he lifts it to the bed. He huffs a sigh of exertion, then knocks it front-first into the duvet, upending the contents of Corpse’s shirts that reek of sweat and underwear that smell of his pheromones and all the other assorted items in the hamper onto the duvet. He spreads them across the bed, covering every inch of the white duvet with the inky black of Corpse’s clothes. He turns to Corpse, a pointed finger extended. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“You,” Sykkuno growls, eyelids low and looking through dense lashes. He curls his finger up towards himself in a beckoning motion. Corpse steps forward, pulled by every word Sykkuno gives him, an alpha at the mercy of his beautiful omega. Sykkuno balls a fist into his shirt and threads his fingers into the dark curls at the base of Corpse’s neck, holding Corpse tight against the swell of his belly, </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“On the bed,” Sykkuno orders, removing his hands to let Corpse do as he’s told, pointing at the centre of the bed. “Take your clothes off. I’m fixing this.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Corpse has never felt more in love than in this moment, under the simmering gaze of his pregnant omega’s anger and breaking patience with his ignorance and the care despite it, under the love and heat that bores through him like a hot knife to butter.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He does as he’s told.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i've fooled you all, i always write/read omegas as having vaginas. sykkuno is trans here, or whatever you wanna cook up the a/b/o equivalent to be.</p><p>addison please don't sue me</p></blockquote></div></div>
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